Secondhand
by SubwayWolf
Summary: Curly Shepard has a lot running through his mind after Tim kicks him out from a fight. He thinks he has a reason for it but Tim tells him otherwise. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A\N: Me + sheer boredom = this story. Enjoy!**

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**SECONDHAND**

Walking home from Buck's place, I kicked a rock. Hot flames of anger and frustration were boiling up inside of me, and my hands formed into fists. I shoved my fists into my pockets and gritted my teeth.

I can't believe what Tim did. We were just about to kick those guys' asses, and he just tells me to shoo. Like, all of a sudden, I'm not a good asset to their fight. What the hell is that? If anything, I get better with each fight Tim and I get into. And Tim looks towards me for backup, right? That's how it's always been. But, for some reason, tonight was different.

The rock hit a crack in the sidewalk and bounced up into the grass on the side. It was dark, so I wasn't going to look at it. I kept walking.

I don't know why I listened to him. I could have just stayed and helped him fight. I could have helped him win, and proved him wrong. Sure, he had Buck on his side, but they needed me, I could tell. Those kids from the Brumly outfit had blades, and I remember Tim left his at home. Why the hell did he leave his at home? I couldn't remember the last time that my brother forgot his blade. Maybe he left it there on purpose. Hell, I didn't know anymore. I didn't know anything.

I reached down into my pocket for a cigarette, but all I found were two quarters and a lighter. I bluntly swore at myself that I didn't bring any with me. I left them with Tim.

As soon as the sound of switchblades was heard, Tim turned to me. _Get out of here, Curly,_ he said, his eyes smoldering with anger. _Go home. I'll be right back. _It makes me think, why in the world didn't I protest? Why didn't I just say, "No, Tim, I came along to help you fight and I'm gonna help you fight"? Was I scared? I don't _think_ so. I don't get scared as easily as I used to. And I loved to fight. It was getting close to be a hobby of mine. I didn't care if I hurt somebody.

I looked up, and found myself staring the moon right in the face. It looked back down at me, glowing, wondering. I looked away, down at my feet. It was too dark to see my feet, but I looked down there anyway.

I realized just then, that I've never disobeyed Tim. Never since I could remember. I hated myself for it, but what choice do I have? Tim scares the life out of me. He's bigger than me and stronger than me and he's a hell of a lot smarter than me. He's just overall better than me. I guess I respected him in a way, but he was just a huge asshole. That's why he got along with Dallas Winston. Tim was just the same, if not worse than that guy. They both got what they wanted, and for what reason, other than they intimidated people. Though I'd kill myself before I'd admit it in front of my brother, but I admired Tim for being so tuff. That last statement was vague because it's meant to be. I don't think there's been a time in my big brother's life where he's let down his guard. He's a smart guy like that. Hell, he's the smartest guy I know. He knows what's best, whether it be for the gang, Angela, or me. He seemed to know absolutely everything. And maybe that's why I listen to him all the time.

I turned the corner of where the broken streetlight was. I suddenly wished it was fixed. It was a windy autumn day and I didn't think to bring my jacket. For a split second, I wished that someone were here with me. Like Angela. Or maybe Curtis. Hell, Tim would be good company right about now. He had my cigarettes.

He was the true definition of a hood. Tim, I mean. He was rough, tough, hard-headed, stubborn, pushy, violent, street-smart, good with a blade, nonchalant, clever, and he had a lengthy criminal record. He taught me everything he knew and everyone said I was a spitting image of my big brother. I was downright proud of it. He was respected, he had a rep. I was getting one, too. And, even though Tim wouldn't say he was proud of me, I knew that he was. Tim's approval was something I craved.

I got to our driveway, and heard screaming from the inside. Girl voices. A fight between mom and Angela, but what was Angela doing home? I didn't care. I didn't fucking care. I sat out on the curb and waited for Tim to come home, even though he probably wouldn't end up coming home. I needed a cigarette pretty badly.

Looking out at the black, empty street, I realized what had happened back at Buck's place. Why Tim kicked me out when the blades were shown. Though I couldn't explain why, Tim must have gotten scared. For me. He must have thought I was going to get hurt. It made me dizzy at the thought, but there wasn't any explanation. That asshole left me out of the fight, but it was for my own safety. He's just so unpredictable.

And I loved him for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A\N: Here's the second of three chapters of this story, from my favorite character, Curly's Shepard's, point of view. Enjoy. **

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At this point, I was shivering pretty badly. I tried to control it, but I couldn't. I had gotten used to the bitter coldness of tonight, but I still didn't have what I really wanted: a cigarette. Usually, I could last a few hours before feeling the need for one, but tonight was different. For some reason, I was feeling vicious withdrawal sooner (and more violently) then I ever have before. It must have been all the stress I was feeling right then about Tim. It had been almost an hour since he told me to come home. I would have gone inside by now, but Angela and mom were still going at it. From what I could hear, my stepdad joined in, and it was getting worse by the minute. I wanted to go in and help, but I but I couldn't face my stepdad, not without Tim. Tim and I made a damn good team.

Speaking of the devil. I watched keenly as a slouching, dark figure made its way towards the curb I was sitting on. When it reached earshot, I stood up quickly, stuck out a trembling hand, and stated bluntly, "Cigarette."

Without saying anything, my brother dug through his pockets and lit me a cigarette. Immediately, I snatched it from him. I nearly hacked up a lung when I took too big of a drag, but the buzz started in the back of my brain all the same, and my trembling settled down.

Through my smoke, I watched as Tim lit a cancer stick for himself, took a few short drags on it, and then let out a long sigh. I looked him over. He was bruised, cut, bloody, and blue. "You know," I suggested innocently, "You wouldn't have gotten hurt so badly if I woulda helped you fight."

Tim took a glance at me for a little bit, and his eyes locked. I kept a small grin on my face, hoping he would return it, but he didn't. He turned away, as if ignoring what I had just said.

There was a slight moment of silence before I asked, "Did you win?" My brother didn't reply, so I took that as a big, fat 'no'. I smiled wide at this, and thankfully it was too dark to see, because Tim would have gotten pretty upset. "Is Buck okay?" I asked, already a hundred percent sure that Tim wouldn't reply. I was right. "Don't you worry, Tim, I'll say it for you." I paused, smirking. "Shut the fuck up, Curly!" I mocked him, laughing a little to myself.

The orange embers from the end of Tim's Kool flickered at me, amused. But Tim's expressionless face was illuminated from behind it. My smile faded. I tried to blow out a smoke ring, but I was unsuccessful. I looked back at Tim. "Tell me why you kicked me out."

Tim threw his weed to the ground and stepped on it with his heel like he always does. "Because."

That response quickly made my smile come back. "Because you didn't want to see me get hurt, ain't that right, Tim?"

He walked towards the house and I followed him. We stood in the light and I saw just how bad he really was. The first thing that I noticed was that his black hair was terribly messed up. Tim had a black eye, too, and there were maroon stains from an old bloody nose beneath his nostrils. His usually fiery and passionate blue eyes looked sad, weak, and subordinate. His madras shirt was partially unbuttoned; the right pocket was completely torn off; and there was a gaping hole on the left side, which had a blood stain lining the edges, like someone pulled a blade on him. He had one shoe on, and his exposed ankle looked all puffy, purple, and swollen. I didn't say anything about this, since I was so overly used to it. I was just happy that his nose wasn't broken again, because if it was, the mood he was in would be a hundred times worse.

But through all of that came a smile. Not the 'Yes, Curly, you're right' smile that I love so much, but more of an amused smile. He chuckled inwardly. "No, it's not right. I sent you out because I knew you weren't strong enough. I knew that you weren't as good of as fighter as I told the Brumly boys that you were. I didn't want to make a fool out of myself, is all."

I gulped, and it felt like I swallowed a rock. My original thoughts were completely wrong, and I felt horrible about it. Tim didn't love me. God damnit, Tim didn't love anybody. _Especially_ not me. But I still wasn't completely buying it. "Bullshit, Tim!" I yelled, my emotions getting the best of me. "You didn't want me to get hurt! You love me too much! But you're too tuff to admit it!"

"Those are _your_ words, not mine. And thanks for the compliment," Tim said, cooler than ever. None of this was bothering him like it was bothering me.

My heart hurt pretty bad. "Tim…you _said_ I was a good fighter! What about that rumble we had a while back against Dallas Winston's gang? I busted the biggest Curtis brother's ribs, remember that? You _told_ me I did a good job! Remember?" I was almost pleading now. I really wanted his approval…

"Yeah, but we lost," Tim hissed. "And you got the shit beat out of you all the same. Just like all the other times, kid. You mete out half the damage that's inflicted upon you."

I didn't know what the word 'inflicted' meant. All I knew was that there was a sharp pain in my throat that I couldn't swallow, and that, for my own sake, I needed to get rid of it. I couldn't cry in front of my brother. One of the first rules of Tim's gang is not to cry. Another one says you can never tell anybody that you love them. Both made me hurt awfully bad.

I ran to my room, already feeling the tears swelling up in my eyes. I ignored the fighting from Angela, mom, and my stepdad, and just jumped onto my bed and buried my face into the pillow. With my foot, I shut the door behind me and my mind yelled at me to lock it but I didn't bother.

I really wasn't in any mood to act on impulse.


	3. Chapter 3

**A\N: So...this is the last chapter. I've really fallen in love with Curly over the course of this story, and I'm hoping to write some more fics in his point of view. There aren't many out there! Thanks for reading, you guys. **

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**CHAPTER 3**

My face buried into my pillow, I cried my eyes out. All my life, all I've ever wanted was for Tim to love me, to tell me that I did a good job, to tell me that I was a good kid. And just when I was cocksure he was beginning to care for me, he tells me that his feelings were quite the opposite. In fact, from what I heard, he hated me. My role model, gang leader, idol, and most importantly brother hated my guts. All because I wasn't a good fighter.

To whom was my fighting ability being compared to anyways? Buck Merril was half the fighter I was, but he was taller and eighteen (I was fourteen) so that must have given him a bonus. God help me if I was being compared to Dallas Winston or Tim. I couldn't live up to their legacy, no matter how much I wanted to. I could never be as good of a fighter as them, especially not my brother.

I could hear uneven footsteps coming up the stairs, but I ignored them. I lifted my head and examined the pillow below me. I looked down at it to find dark wet marks of my bodily fluids all over it. My heart sank deeper into the pit of my stomach. I was being such a fucking girl.

I didn't know why this situation bothered me as much as it did. And it bothered me that I didn't know why this was bothering me. I pictured Tim still standing on our front porch, lighting himself another one of my cigarettes, and I bet he already had forgotten about the fight that we just had. Was it even a fight? He just told me what he thought about me, and my pathetic reaction was shedding tears and falling to pieces. It wasn't a fight. It was a rationalization.

I flipped my pillow over, so I wouldn't have to lay down on my snot, droll, and tears. My eyes hurt when I blinked. I swallowed, and that hurt as well. I thought I had stopped crying, but I could taste the salty tears as they came into my mouth, and I could feel them tickling my cheeks. I closed my eyes tight, hoping that it would squeeze all the tears out. But they just kept coming.

When I opened my eyes, my heart sunk. My door was opening. Quickly, I turned the covers over my head so that whoever was coming in wouldn't see my red eyes and wet cheeks.

"Hey, Curly, Angela and mom fucked up my room, so I'm sleeping in here for tonight, okay?" Tim. At the sound of his voice, my fists clenched around the sheets. "Oh, and I'm not taking 'no' as an answer." He paused. "Curly, I know that you're not sleeping. Don't play me as a fool."

My throat hurt, and I began to cry again. I wasn't sobbing, as much as my eyes were wet. "G-…go away, Tim." I told him, but my voice cracked something awful, and it was completely obvious that I was crying.

"Curly, I'm staying here for the night. It's not like you can fight me for the rights to your room, because you know I'll win," he cracked playfully, but it really hurt me instead of made me laugh.

I couldn't take it. I ripped the covers off of me and screamed at him, "Fuck you, Tim! Get the hell out of my room! I _hate_ you!"

I scanned him through my blurry eyes. His mouth was handing open in some sort of disbelief. Not disgust like I had predicted, but pure shock. His blue eyes faltered at me, giving me the notion that he was searching for words to say. It took a long few moments until he actually said something. "Curly…" he said, calmer than I expected. "Are you…_crying_?"

"No, I'm not crying! Who do you think I am?" I said, but the tears came harder. I attempted to swat them away, but the only thing I succeeded in doing that was making my eyes redder.

I hid under the covers again, as if they were going to make me feel better. They didn't. "I'm sorry, Tim! I didn't mean it! I can't help it! I'm sorry!" I kept apologizing and apologizing, but I didn't know what for. Maybe I was apologizing for not being a good fighter, or I was apologizing because I was crying and Tim told me that I should never cry. Maybe I was telling myself that I was sorry, that I was sorry for myself that I didn't try hard enough, or that I was sorry for letting my big brother down. "I'm sorry, Tim…I really am….don't be mad, Tim…"

I peeked out from under the covers once I realized that he wasn't saying anything. He was still standing there, with that stunned look. He had washed up the blood on his face, but I could barely tell since my vision was blurred yet again. I felt bad looking at Tim and seeing him cut and broken and bruised, and then looking at me unscathed. Screw that; I wasn't unscathed. My heart was broken.

"Go away, Tim!" I shouted at him from under the covers, making my words slightly quieter. "I don't want you in here! I don't want to see you ever again!" I didn't mean what I was saying but something inside of me gave me an impulse me to say it, so I said it.

Tim took a step back like he was leaving, and I put my whole head under the covers, feeling the tears start back up again. It was dark under there and I liked it just fine. I heard a door slam from downstairs and assumed that Angela must have walked out. I didn't care anyways. I heard my bedroom door shut and I assumed that Tim had left like I told him to. So that meant I was alone. Again.

All I could hear was my staggered, post-cry breathing, and a few sniffles here and there. With each time I blinked, my eyelids got heavier. I was exhausted and I could have fallen asleep right there, but there was too much on my mind. I still didn't have any idea what that look on Tim's face meant. He could have been upset with me because I was crying, or maybe angry that I talked back to him. I didn't know.

Suddenly, I felt the blanket being pulled up from behind me. I could swear I was dreaming, but I felt a strong arm wrap around my side and hold me close. I inhaled the scent of who was there, and I smelled grease, blood, and coffee. That was Tim. He always smelled like coffee, even though he never drank it. I bit my tongue, keeping myself from saying anything, even though I really wanted to. I sat there, tried to settle down my breathing, but it kept coming out in those post-cry gasps.

"Curls," he softly got my attention, using a nickname I've never heard (or expected to) come out of his mouth. "Listen to me. If you tell anybody, and I mean _anybody_ what I'm about to say, I'll have your hide, you understand?" I nodded to him, even though his he couldn't see that. "I took you out of the fight today because I knew that the Brumly outfit was stronger than me and Buck. And since I knew straight out that we were going to lose, I knew that I couldn't protect you. So I made you leave. Everything you told me outside, you were right." He paused, took a breath, and said, "Curly…I don't want anything bad to ever happen to you. And…I love you." He sighed. "There. I said it. You happy now? I love you, kiddo, but that's the last time you'll ever hear me say that, you understand? I love you." _He said it three times_, I smiled to myself. "What do you think about that?"

I quickly spun around in his grasp and nuzzled my nose into his chest. He kept his warm hold on me. "I think that's not a very tuff thing for you to say, is it?" Tim didn't say anything, but I could feel him smiling. "I love you too, Tim," I said, smiling into his black t-shirt, and wiping my wet eyes in it. "And I'm just kidding. I think that's the tuffest thing you've _ever_ said."

With that, I fell asleep, dreaming about switchblades, cigarettes, and coffee.

**THE END**


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